Chapter 2 2. Harold, the gas station girl and the question of faith

Harold Fry walked almost the entire length of Fall Street.He walked past the defunct Woolworths retail store, the butcher shop owned by a bad owner (“The man would beat his wife,” Maureen said), and the butcher shop owned by a good guy (“His wife didn’t want him, The family ran away.”), and the clock tower, the ruins and the offices of the Harms South Gazette, down to the last shop.With each step, the muscles in Harold's calf tugged, and his breathing became more and more rapid.The mouth of the river behind him gleamed like a sheet of tin in the sun, and the boats in the distance on the river were reduced to points of white light.Harold stopped in front of the travel agency, pretending to browse the super-value travel plans posted on the window, and wanted to take a break while passers-by were not paying attention.Bali, Naples, Istanbul, Abu Dhabi, his mother used to describe these places to him in the most dreamy language: the land there is full of tropical plants, and the girls there wear flowers on their heads...so much so that he Full of doubts about the world that I don't understand.That didn't change much after marrying Maureen, and David was born again, and they just went to the same holiday camp in Eastbourne for two weeks a year.Harold took a few deep breaths, collected himself, and continued walking forward.

Shops have been turned into dwellings, some clad in powder-gray Devonstone, others whitewashed and others clad in slate tiles.The magnolia bloomed just right, and the leaves were dotted with white stars, shining like fake flowers.It was one o'clock, and the postman must have picked up today's letter.He intends to buy a snack to fill his stomach, and then find the next mailbox.After another traffic light, Harold walked towards the gas station. There were no houses there, only a large open space. A little girl sat at the counter and yawned.She wore a red waistcoat over her T-shirt, with a "glad to serve you" badge pinned to it; her hair hung greasy on both sides of her head, revealing her two ears; It's like being locked indoors for a long time without seeing sunlight.She didn't even understand at first when he asked if there were any snacks.

"Oh! You mean hamburgers?" She finally understood, moved to the refrigerator and took out an extra-large cheeseburger and fries combo, and showed him how to heat it in the microwave. "My God," Harold said, watching the hamburgers twirling in the microwave, "I didn't know your gas stations still sell dinner." The girl handed over a bowl of ketchup and sweet sauce, wiped her hands and asked, "Come on?" She had the hands of a child. "No, no, I'm just passing by. I'm walking." "Oh!" she said. "I'm sending a letter to an old friend. She's got cancer." To his surprise, he paused before saying the word, lowered his voice, and started fiddling with his fingers unconsciously.The girl nodded. "My aunt too. It's everywhere." She cast her eyes on the cabinet in the shop as if it was hidden behind the Automobile Association maps and those Turtle polishes, "But you always have to Be positive." Harold stopped holding the burger and wiped the corners of his mouth with a tissue: "Be positive?"

"You have to have faith. That's what I think anyway. You can't just take medicine or something. You have to believe that the person will get better. There are so many things in the human brain that we don't understand, but if you think about it, If you have faith, you can definitely get things done.” Harold watched the girl in awe.He didn't know how it happened, but now she looked like she was standing in the center of a ball of light, as if the sun had turned in one direction, and even her hair and skin became bright and clear.Maybe he was staring too intently, and maybe even sighed, but the girl shrugged and bit her lower lip: "Am I talking nonsense?"

"My God, no, no. It's interesting what you said. I'm afraid I've never figured out the thing about religion." "I'm not saying get...religious or anything. I'm saying, accept something you don't understand, fight for it, believe that you can change things." He felt that he had never seen such simple perseverance and determination, let alone in a young man.Listening to her, it seems that these are obvious. "She recovered, didn't she? Your aunt? Because of your convictions?" The girl did not speak.She moved her lips, opened her mouth half open for a moment, then closed it tightly again.

"Is anyone there?" A man in a pinstriped suit called from the counter, tapping the car keys in his hand lightly on the countertop in boredom.The girl circled back to the counter, and Harold followed closely.The man in the striped shirt pretended to look at his watch, raised his wrist high in the air, pointed to the surface and said, "I'm going to Exeter in thirty minutes." "Come on?" the girl asked, returning to the pile of cigarettes and lottery tickets.Harold tried to catch her eye, but failed.She was that dull, empty person again, as if the conversation between the two had never happened.

Harold put down the burger money and walked to the door.Faith, was that the word she said?It was not a word that was often heard, but it was strange that he just happened to hear it after reading Queenie's letter this morning.Even though he didn't quite understand what the girl meant by faith, or even how much he believed it, the word sounded so right.It lingered in his head, lingering for so long that it overwhelmed him.Since he was sixty-five years old, he has been mentally prepared for the difficulties in the future: his joints will become more and more stiff, his ears will become less and less sensitive, his eyes will keep crying when the wind blows, and his chest will suddenly A stabbing pain seemed to indicate something ominous.But what is this sudden feeling now? Why is it so powerful that it makes his body tremble slightly and his legs are eager to try?He turned onto the A381, vowing to stop at the next postbox.

He was almost out of Kingsbridge.The road gradually narrowed, became a small driveway, and finally there was no sidewalk at all.The trees above the head are shaded, and the lush branches and leaves are connected to form a tunnel, and the pointed new shoots and cloud-like flower clusters are entwined in it.More than once he stuck to a nearby hawthorn tree to avoid passing cars.Some of the cars had only one driver, and Harold guessed they must be on their way to and from get off work, because they all looked frozen, as if all joy had been drained.Some were filled with mothers and children, looking equally exhausted.Partners like Maureen and he were stiff and tired.Harold had a sudden urge to wave at them—he liked being around people, and he wished he knew them better, what they loved and what they lost.But he didn't raise his hand after all - after walking for so long, he was out of breath and didn't want to cause unnecessary panic.

The sea was far behind and the hills and the turquoise outline of Dartmoor lay ahead.What about the plateau?The Black Mountains, then the Mendip Hills, the Malvern Downs, the Pennines, the Yorkshire Dales, the Derwey Hills, and beyond that Berwickshire-on-Tweed. Yet here, just across the road, a mailbox appeared.There is a telephone booth next to the mailbox.Harold's journey came to an end. He moved forward step by step.Just missed so many mailboxes, two mail vans and a postman on a motorcycle.He thought of other things he had missed—the people, the opportunities, the son who no longer wanted to talk to him, the wife he had failed.He thought of his father in the nursing home, of the luggage his mother left by the door.Now there is another friend who proved himself a sincere friend twenty years ago.Is this preordained?Did he have to give up these things, as if they really didn't matter?This helpless discovery weighed heavily on his heart, making him breathless.One letter is not enough, there must be something more to do.He staggered back to the road, his face full of grief.Reaching for the bag, I realized that the phone was left at home.He was taken aback.

A pickup truck braked suddenly, barely avoiding Harold. "You're courting death!" the driver yelled. Harold ignored it and ignored the mailbox.He went into the phone booth, holding Queenie's letter in his hand. There was an address and a phone number on the envelope, but his fingers were trembling so badly he could barely type the numbers.While waiting, the air in the phone booth became stagnant, and a drop of sweat slipped from between his shoulder blades. After ten or so rings, there was finally a bang from the other end of the microphone, and a voice with a strong accent said: "Good afternoon. St. Bernardine Nursing Home."

"I'm looking for a patient named Queenie Hennessy." The other end of the phone paused.Harold added, "It's urgent. I want to know how she is." The woman who answered the phone made a strange sound that seemed to be a long sigh. A chill ran down Harold's spine.It was too late, Queenie was dead.He bit his hand tightly. The voice said, "I'm afraid Miss Hennessy is sleeping. May I deliver a message for you?" The little cloud cast a shadow on the ground and walked fast.The light and shadow of the distant mountains are foggy, not because of the twilight, but because of the large open space spreading in front of the mountains.He thought about the current situation: Queenie was taking a nap on the far side of England, and he was standing in a small phone booth on the other side, separated by mountains and rivers he didn't understand and could only imagine: roads, farmland , forests, rivers, wildernesses, wastelands, peaks, deep valleys, and countless people.He was going to know them, to go through them—without deliberating, without thinking rationally, as soon as the thought arose, he decided.Harold couldn't help laughing at the simplicity. "Please tell her that Harold Fry is on his way to see her. She'll just have to wait. Because I'm going to save her, you know? I'm going to walk over and she's got to live. Listen up ?" The voice echoed back, "Yes. Anything else? For example, do you know the hours of the day? Do you know the rules for the parking lot?" Harold repeated: "I don't drive. I want her to live." "Excuse me. What happened to the car?" "I'll walk. All the way from South Devon to Berwick." That The voice sighed impatiently: "This road is not easy to drive. What are you doing?" "I'll walk!" Harold yelled. "Oh," the voice responded slowly, as if she were taking notes, "walk over here. I'll tell her. Anything else?" "I'm leaving right now. As long as I'm walking, she'll be alive. Please tell her I won't let her down this time." Harold hung up the phone and walked out of the kiosk, a heart beating so fast it seemed to burst out of his chest.With trembling hands, he took the letter for Queenie out of the envelope, leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth, hurriedly added "Wait for me. H.", and sent the letter. Harold stared at the long street in front of him, and the Dartmoor Plateau in the distance was gloomy.He looked down at the sailing shoes on his feet again, and he asked himself in his heart: God, what did I do just now?The seagull overhead flapped its wings and called.